


Mightier

by CrystalDen



Series: Impressions for a Dyad [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kylo is angry but maybe horny, Obsessive Kylo Ren, One Shot, POV Kylo Ren, Sexual Fantasy, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalDen/pseuds/CrystalDen
Summary: Kylo Ren revels in the power of his sword and imagines his next meeting with the Scavenger.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Impressions for a Dyad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133822
Comments: 18
Kudos: 32





	Mightier

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @reylo_addict for the eyes ❤️

It’s marvelous.

The rhythm, the way it moves with him.

The way his very foundation responds and calls it to heel.

Some would say erratic, unhinged.

Maybe unschooled.

It’s marvelous.

The hilt.

He can almost look at it with fondness now when he recalls what it was as a boy.

A young Jedi.

But, bleeding the heart of the saber, the krystal had made him into what he was always meant to be.

The power, the discipline.

Balanced.

A master of the Dark.

Sliding his thumb against the release at the head, the awe never ends. He enjoys the sound of the black leather of his gloves stretching over his fingers and around the instrument. How it twitches and awakens in his hand. The initial sharp hum fills his ears as he extends his arm, letting it split the air.

In the quiet of his quarters, he watches the red veins wrapping their way around the beam of light.

He can hear the memory. Screams of defeat elicited from the blade.

Its greatness is only matched by the promise of his legacy. 

It moves in perfect time as he trains, culling the air around him as he moves through the poses and drills his mind and body tirelessly in the ways of the ancient religion.

He fuels his body, releases his mind, and ceremonially opens himself to every ounce of anger as it floods, extends, and curls deep in his marrow.

The heartbreak.

The disappointment.

The hate.

It feeds him.

The sweat and muck of battle stirs his blood as he tears through another enemy and intimidates armies.

He is a Dark warrior marked by the imminent glow of blood on his hands and the light from his sword.

It’s all fashioned in this way.

The long drag of his cloak as it slides through the terrain. The fit of his robes as they support the muscle memory of every move and hide the fury beneath. They are nothing like the vestments of a young Jedi, exposed and weak.

Carefully constructed, menacing and majestic.

Every stitch, every line in place.

Dark, like a harbinger.

Nearly every part of him covered.

Everything except his face.

From everyone except the Scavenger.

Just the very ripple of thought causes him to grasp the hilt of his sword tighter in response. 

He licks the small cut in his lip feeling it nearly fresh on his tongue.

Every bruise or cut seems to be healing with the rhythm of time with the exception of the small split in his lower lip. Like the scar on his face, it’s a reminder, a promise to rid himself of the obstacle in his path. The feel of it is still there, the tang of copper still fresh.

He knows just how to agitate the wound to open it again.

So, it still exists on his face, a visual log of his meetings with the Jedi.

He turns the blade in his hand, listening for the satisfying thwack it makes.

He pictures it, plans it.

The dreams won’t stop.

The saber flares to life and stretches, seeking its true purpose.

Death from the saber is not always clean, but if she were to die by his hand, it’s the only way he would choose for her to go.

Watching the light as it brightens her face, bathing it in the red glow. The vision of her is awash in the neutral tunic and the gold and tan of her skin, causing a chill to trail down his spine.

She would be his apprentice at his choosing. 

It was unbelievable, finding her embroiled into dealings with the Resistance with her useless connections and obsession with family.

It rankles, her loyalty to people she hardly knows. 

Traitors, criminals, and thieves.

His own mother.

He can feel the devotion pouring from her anytime they were embroiled in another struggle, whether mental or physical.

The Jedi had shown some improvement since their first meeting, but her mind still opens to him on occasion. It was a revelation, feeling her frantic thoughts push at him and scatter to hide their identity.

She’s still lonely.

She has her friends, but they can’t fill the void. They can’t relate to the crushing weight of her future.

He’s well fed on her anger, directed at him, and the need to be understood.

He revels in that sorrow that seems like a fitting companion to his own.

The offer to teach her.

He didn’t take that responsibility lightly. She’d be an ideal apprentice. Wild, untamed.

The Jedi was heavily saturated with the Light, but underneath the Dark existed, too.

Kylo felt a particular interest in the way she tried to hide the Dark within. The steady pulse of it flowed through her and to him on more than one occasion. Each glancing blow, each pull of the Force, revealed more and more that he craved to unravel until she was completely bare.

She was meant to be beneath the shelter of his cloak.

But, she continued to deny him, and now the time had come for her life to expire.

It would be a great fight, a great win, and a beautiful death. 

He could almost picture her face, posturing herself at his feet, at his behest.

No. 

He would never make her lower herself. She was a warrior, green and fresh, but a warrior still.

She had bested him in the snow.

It had been a personal low.

His jaw clenches, and his mouth moves in a silent hiss to acknowledge it.

Killing his father had been necessary.

But, the deed cut deeper than ever intended.

His weakness, his ill-placed wonder in her access to the Force.

He relaxes his jaw, gripping the hilt and rubbing his thumb over the release one more time.

He smiles and shakes his head.

She wouldn’t be so successful again.

The bond had complicated things.

It gave her access to him, spurring her desire to turn him.

Him.

Kylo Ren.

It led her to call on Ben, the filthy name from his past.

She had said it so prettily.

Reached for his saber with so little pull needed, and it responded.

The bond had complicated things, but his past wouldn’t betray him again. He would have her in his way, or he would have her at her end.

He sees it.

He can taste it.

The saber.

The way it sparks to life in her presence. 

His sword.

Erratic and blazing hot.

The destruction it causes.

Diving into a lush terrain at the ready and swinging towards the Jedi Scavenger.

The way they dance back and forth is astonishing.

The fabric of her tunic trails behind, the cross of thin material leading up to the curve of her back as she arches from him, avoiding his sword.

It sizzles, eager and ready to make contact with the soft flesh of her side.

She pants and groans with each thrust, anticipating his moves and receiving them with a shout and stretch of her hands in his direction.

Her eyes.

The color is nearly lost in the hungry and fierce way she furrows her brow, narrowing them throughout the theatrics of this moment.

She is better, more skilled, certainly.

But, Kylo is conditioned, trained, and more desperate than ever.

His resolve will win out, and she will fall, providing him with the taste of her defeat thick in his mouth.

She’ll tire.

Her mind.

Her body.

She won’t be able to overtake him, maybe match him if her fortune is good.

He’s accustomed to her animal cries and howls in battle. He can nearly feel the wind whip around him from the quickness of her feet and body.

The buildup is easy to imagine, but the final act.

He shudders in deep thought over the power it holds.

Kylo can picture the final blow.

He would look into her eyes.

Watch her brow soften in surprise as he thrusts the saber inside her rosy and heated flesh. 

He would know her in that moment. 

Take everything as her guard is let down and her chokehold on the bond begins to disappear.

The sound of their mutual panting is heavy in his ears, exhausted and spent from the tangle.

Her small gasp is music as he experimentally thrusts again, listening for the sweet parting of her body around him.

She is vulnerable and compliant beneath him. 

She is his.

He catches her in his arms, relishing the power and the beautiful way her body sinks into him.

Her eyes widen, and he can smell the copper in the air along with a hint of surrender.

He sees her island again.

Arms wrapped around her shoulders, he pulls her closer and closer, his lips pressing against her ear.

Mine.

Sliding his hand from the hilt, he tosses his saber sword onto the pallet, hoping that one day soon, he can finally put thoughts of her away.

Wondering why he can never imagine her final breath.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Other works: [CrystalDen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalDen/works)
> 
> Twitter: [@the_crystalden](https://twitter.com/the_crystalden)


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